The Coldwater Railyards were a sprawling graveyard of rust and forgotten industry, cut straight down the middle by a single, pristine line of elevated magnetic track.
This was Cargo-Line 7. It didn't carry coal or steel. It carried high-density plasma batteries and classified tech directly from the Board’s manufacturing sector to the Citadel, moving at speeds that made traditional transit look like it was crawling in wet cement.
"Track in sight," Reaper called out over the comms, his voice tight with the G-force of our acceleration.
We burst through the chain-link perimeter fence of the railyard at a hundred and twenty miles an hour. Twelve bikes, moving as a single, roaring organism.
Above us, the Aegis-Class Destroyer hovered like a thundercloud, its massive searchlights sweeping the
